It has been six days since my boots marched on D.C. streets. I feel like it was just yesterday. This week went by quickly as I was getting back into the routine around here, planning a move, cuddling with a toddler who seems to be needing to make up for lost time, and every other normal task I tackle daily. Realizing that it has been almost a week and the dust is settling felt a bit surreal this morning.

I wrote about my experience during the entire trip. I want to touch on why I marched. Why I will continue to march. I touched base on this via my instagram a month ago. I then tagged it properly and much to my utter astonishment, the Women’s March shared the post! I shared it knowing they asked for our reasons. I shared it not ever thinking it would be shared by them. Ultimately, I shared it because I am involved and want to stay vocal and active.

Why did I march? I will start with my opening point on the post. I march because I am a mom of two boys. Two little boys who will leave my home one day knowing that women are strong, equal, intelligent, capable, and worthy of respect. I refuse to put two more men into the world who treat women and other humans poorly. I will fight tooth and nail to help them be open hearted, tolerant, kind, respectful, and open-minded men.

I encourage them to dress and play with whatever they want. They love Shopkins and Minecraft. You can walk through my home and hear me saying “There is no such thing as boy toys and girl toys, there are just toys.” I let them grab items from the girls clothing department if they see a shirt or something they like. They will check out every aisle in the toy section, there is no invisible border for them between the clearly divided sections.

I repeatedly explain that “everyone is different.” My oldest has carried that with him into the world. As they grown they begin to encounter people who are not raised as they have been. Kids have given him a hard time that sometimes his water bottles do not have boy things on them. He replies “there are no girl or boy things. Everyone is different.” I asked him many times if it is bothersome to him when comments are made, and he always says no. I reassure him to be himself and I use blue water bottles, I use pink water bottles. Who cares what the bottle looks like, we just want the water! One time kids were harassing him to try ketchup, which he hates, and finally he told them (at the age of 4) “I don’t like it and that is ok because everyone is different!”

I marched because I have a responsibility to help shape the next generation of men. I only have two of them to guide and love, but two people can make a difference. Two boys can go out there and be helpers not harmers. I will end rape culture within my home. Boys will not be boys. Boys will be kind humans and do good works. I will do my best for them to see a strong woman with a loud and active voice. I will do my best for them to know that women can do anything they want, that men aren’t inherently better at certain things than women. I marched so that when they look at me and ask “Mommy what did you do to stop Trump? What did YOU do during this period in our history?” I can look them in the eye and say, “I fought with all my heart. I marched. I tried to be a voice that championed love, equality, kindness, respect, openness, and strength.”

I marched a woman who has experienced sexual assault. I marched because there is a man in the White House who openly admitted to grabbing women by the pussy, and yet a sickening number of white women still voted for him. Maybe they have never had their pussies violated. I don’t know their story. Everyone is different. But my story? That includes a sexual assault that left me blacked out before waking up in a hospital scared, alone, and not knowing where I was. When you talk about trigger warnings, he is one giant trigger warning for people who have been violated sexually. The most respected office in the country is filled by a man that flippantly discusses sexual assault and then is not in the least bit remorseful. In fact, he just attacks any of the women who then came forward to talk about their experience with his tiny grabby hands. I marched for myself, for the other women who have told me their rape stories, for women who may not have told me their stories, for women who haven’t been assault and for their right to not have someone violate them, and for women who unfortunately may be assaulted in the future. I marched for all of us in an attempt to change the narrative about rape. To shift the focus on the attacker and not the victim. It took me 13 years to come forward and open up entirely about this. Women shouldn’t be afraid. We shouldn’t have to walk to our car with keys in our hands. We shouldn’t be thinking “dont’ get raped.” The world should be shouting “Don’t fucking rape people! (or grab them by the pussy)” I marched because that is just one instance of sexual violation in my 31 years on this planet. There are many other smaller stories I have gone though. I am not alone in that. That is why I marched.

I marched because I am aware as a white woman with a comfortable income, that my experience may be uniquely different than my other sisters out there. That intersectional feminism is the only way we will move forward together. I recognize the privilege I have based on my skin color, sexual orientation, economic status, and life experience. I respect the fact that not every woman experiences sexism and injustice in the same way. There are layers to each person’s life experience and things are not so clear cut. I marched because I want to listen, learn, support, and engage in meaningful educational moments from women that are different from me.

I marched with my mom. I marched with her because I have seen a fire lit in her during this election. It has given me a push forward on my strong opinions. I marched with her because she has always told me I can do whatever I want to do. I marched with her because she is responsible for the eventual family motto I coined “everyone is different.” She instilled that in me growing up. I marched with her because marching with your mom is so incredibly empowering. I was not aware of how empowering that would feel. To stand arm in arm with the woman who birthed you. I was in the position of the child asking my mom “What did you do to resist this?” Her answer will always be, “I marched. I resisted. I refused to go away quietly.”

I marched for myself, my nieces, my sisters in law, my aunts, my cousins, my friends, the strangers I met along the way, and yes, even the women who are against this movement. I marched for you just in case you ever need a hand to lift you up. I hope not. I hope you can live your life without feeling marginalized, but if something changes, here is my hand, to hold and march with yours. I marched for all people who are aghast at the fact that this is where we are as a nation right now. I marched for our future.

Where do we go from here? There are many ways to stay active. There are more marches coming up. Personally, I will be attending volunteer expo event at the end of February. I have some ideas of where I would like to put my time, but I think the expo will open my eyes to even more choices. Then, I pick a place and I get involved. If you are in Illinois, this is a grass roots organization, Action for a Better Tomorrow . It started out of Pantsuit Nation and grew into its own movement. There are local chapters. I started to get involved in the local one in the ‘burbs where I am now, but we are moving, so I will have to shift focus once we are settled in.

The march is not where it ended. It was the beginning. Keep speaking out, writing, volunteering, calling your representatives, reading and researching, sharing things on your social media. Do not become complacent now that our boots are back in the closets or shoe racks. Keep those boots dirty. Nasty, if you will.

Wrapping up my journey to D.C. with my mom for the Women’s March on Washington is not an easy feat. I am still decompressing and trying to wrap my head around every experience. I will do my best in bringing these experiences to written word.

We arrived late Thursday morning. Which gave us plenty of time to squeeze in some kind of adventure. We decided to head from our hotel in Virginia to D.C. We were able to see D.C. as a ghost town in some regards. Pennsylvania Ave was already blocked off. People could waltz down the street as they pleased, taking in the overwhelming atmosphere. The soon to be half filled bleachers were already set up. Not looking too different than the photos from the parade.

The chilling feeling when reading this was incredible. I will hold this close to my heart over the next 4 years.

We walked to the Capitol Building where there were sound checks occurring. I would say there were a mix of people there for two very different reasons. While we may have elicited stares, as our missing attire of support stood out amongst red hats and t-shirts, things were peaceful. I experienced one of the most thrilling and invigorating moments of my life. Climbing atop a railing in front of the Capitol Building, laying down, and flexing myself into a backbend. My mom took one of my now favorite photos. I felt so energized just doing that. One more place around the world where I have done a backbend.

Seeing how the country sets up for the peaceful transition of power is something everyone should experience. As much as I loathe the current political situation, it is rather encouraging to see democracy in action. Be that, the peaceful transition of power, or women (and men) taking to the streets to exercise their 1st Amendment rights in a peaceful, productive, and supportive manner, it is wonderful to know at its heart, America stands for those tenets.

Sad faces on Obama’s last night in the White House. We already miss you!

We had dinner in town and when we walked out we found ourselves literally in the middle of another protest. The energy was a bit anxious and agitated. The vibe wasn’t my kind of thing. We accepted some swag from them, butultimately we moved on. Eventually we made our way back to our hotel. Later we realized that group participated in destructive protest Thursday and Friday. It is important to open your mind to the vibe of situations. Sometimes your intuition will tell you more than your eyes can discern in the moment. This was no different. We did not come to D.C. to destroy or harm. I strongly feel being vigilant yet peaceful is the journey I want to take.

Friday we stayed away from D.C. proper entirely. We made our way to Alexandria. Where George Washington’s very feet walked the ground my feet walked. If you don’t know me well or personally, I have a degree in History and my favorite president is Washington. The town is beautiful. It was lovely to see the Potomac. We encountered one of the most inspirational people I have ever had the privilege of having a random conversation with. A teenage girl who is Muslim. She was there with her school for the inauguration. We chatted for a long while. She explained her experience in America. She was very detailed and open with us. She plans to go into journalism and politics. I will never forget what she articulated to us. You know the old adage that America is a “melting pot”? She has a better description. She described us as a salad. We compliment one another when we are all in that bowl together. Together we are better. Yet we remain our individual selves. My mom and I continued that conversation over dinner that night. I brought up the fact that if you are a piece of spinach and the tomato next to you is moldy, rotten, and bad, that reflects on you. No one wants to eat a moldy tomato salad, even if the spinach is perfect and crisp. We all need to be good and work together for the salad to be delicious.

Alexandria adventure

I am not sure how often we have vacations that help shape us into a better more enlightened person, but I have experienced such a trip this time around. My eyes are even wider now having listened to so many human’s stories. Humans I would never have encountered otherwise. I feel honored to have been given the opportunity to engage them.

This brings me to the big event. Saturday. The Women’s March on Washington. I have to quote Hamilton at this point, “This is not a moment it’s the movement.” This was not one moment in time, but rather the beginning of an incredible movement. The proof that something was awakened on November 8th is hard to deny.

Our journey back to D.C. began with a new friend that went on the shuttle to the metro with us. She was making her way down there alone to meet up with a friend and asked to tag along with us so we could help her navigate the metro. Absolutely! At this point we were pros as we used it to go everywhere. From there we met a mother, her son, and his husband. Nate put on thigh high red stiletto boots to march. He said that if we can walk around in heels all of the time, he can for the march. His mother radiated warmth, love, and adoration for her son. His husband had a pair of chucks shoved in his coat pockets just in case Nate changed his mind on his footwear. Unique and open people I would not have crossed paths with otherwise.

The train quickly filled up, the energy was palpable. The vibes were happy, empowered, excited, warm, and read to march. Striking up conversations with a person two inches from your face felt as natural as asking your significant other how their day was. Walking off of the train and up to the street came with this pulse of kinetic rays bursting on the scene. Women everywhere. A sea of pink hats. We arrived early in the morning and already we were everywhere. There was no hate. There was no anger. No one was rude. We were all in this bubble of kindness, acceptance, and general patience for one another. We were all there for the same purpose after all. We were there to celebrate and support one another.

As the rally began you could hear how far the crowds stretched without actually being able to visualize them. You would hear this distant roar that sounded as if it pulsated slowly through the buildings and streets. Then you would hear the crowd around you cheer and clap and shout along. Deafening and empowering simultaneously.

I feel honored to have been in the presence of such empowering humans. I saw and heard them speak. I was near the stage of the rally. I was moved to tears many times. I was proud to cast my vote for my Senator Tammy Duckworth during the election. My elation at hearing her speak and motivate us at the rally is beyond my descriptive capabilities. I remember shouting to my mom “That’s my girl!!!” Maxine Waters is also an amazing and inspiring woman. Just earlier in the week I had been watching videos and news coverage of her discussing all of this. Then there she was, before my very eyes, speaking to me with her powerful voice. There were so many speakers that moved me in so many different ways. I was brought to near sobbing tears by The Mothers of the Movement. Losing their babies. I was there missing my two sweet boys and they were just a plane ride or FaceTime away. My heart collapsed for what they have gone through. The variety of emotions that flowed through my body is wide. Empathy, empowerment, inspiration, joy, sorrow, anger, fierceness, elation, feeling awake, strength, and on and on.

The march itself did not begin at the predetermined time. The rally went on and on. And then we finally marched. “Tell me what democracy looks like?” “THIS IS WHAT DEMOCRACY LOOKS LIKE!” I truly, with all of my heart, believe in that. Democracy looks like exercising your cherished 1st Amendment right. If that means, writing this blog or literally putting my boots on the ground and yelling until my voice cracks, I will not let anything stop me from enlisting that right.

I have been so stressed since the election. I think so many of us have felt that way. I have shed tears many times. More than just on November 8-9th. I have felt despair and utter disbelief that this is what we are stuck with. I get nauseated when I am reminded of the popular vote totals. I cannot wrap my head around that. I am not sure I ever will. I will say, this march was so refreshing. I felt this release inside of my chest. I was able to take a detoxing deep breath for the first time since November 8th. I slept easily last night. I was ready for bed by 8:30pm. I feel good. I think a lot of us needed this.

I also know it is important to not let this be the end. This was not the stopping point. This was not just one giant therapy session. This needs to be the start of the battle. We need to continue to fight in any capacity we are capable of. This may develop differently for each human on this side of history. That is fine. Maybe you talk to a stranger. Maybe you spread kindness. Maybe you write your congress person. Maybe you call them. Maybe you volunteer. Maybe you run for office. Maybe you find an organization that means something to you and you get involved. This morning I felt that I know the path I want to head down. I know the organization I want to get involved with. We are moving in February, and once we are settled in, I will get the ball rolling.

For me and my experience, this was not about destruction. This was about building up our nation through solidarity with one another. This was about cherishing equality for all persons. This was about lifting your neighbor up when they need a hand. This was about celebrating the uniqueness that lives inside each of us. My mom pointed out that it was really neat how all of the pink hats looked alike yet they were all a little different. Being who I am I said “Like vaginas!’” My mom laughed and said “yeah or like, people.”

And that is the take away. We are all the same in some regard, yet we are all unique in our own right. Our choices, experiences, relationships, visions, and desires are unique. That is what makes this whole world so wonderful. We should embrace that, celebrate that, and respect that. There would be a lot less hatred in the world if we were less afraid of differences and more open to cherishing the opportunity to bump into one another, for a lifetime, a moment, or a movement.